


An Unforgivable Crime

by orphan_account



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Food, grotesque violence against Rung's model ships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-02 01:58:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4041337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whirl rewards Fortress Maximus for his some earlier assistance by convincing the big mech to do something he shouldn’t: break his diet. Rung’s model ships suffer as a result.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Unforgivable Crime

“We shouldn’t be in here.” Fortress Maximus was too large to tip-toe, but Whirl was quiet like a shadow. All mouth in the open where it mattered and his bravado was his shield, but in Rung’s darkened office, Whirl was the epitome of stealth. It made Fort Max’s precarious lumbering look even more awkward as he attempted to shut off his ventilation systems one by one and suppress his body’s overpowering natural processes that shattered the covert illusion.

Whirl crept toward Rung’s desk, the far-reaching blades stemming from his shoulders pointing downward and spider-like limbs hiked high like the claws of a carnival crane machine poised to snatch a prize.

Fortress Maximus watched Whirl with his lips pressed tightly together, until the pressure of bottling his ventilations became overwhelming and his head turned woozy. But Whirl enthralled Fortress Maximus, distracting from urgent internal needs and Fortress Maximus’s vision was turning hazy by the time Whirl reached out for something on the desk.

“ _Whirl!”_  Fortress Maximus gasped loudly, lurching forward to stop Whirl’s trifling hands. Rung’s office was so neat, too tidy, everything had its place, from the paperweights pinning down his documents on the desk, to the display of models hanging on the wall behind Whirl. Fortress Maximus had a suspicion that the psychotherapist would know instantly if something had been moved even a fraction out of place. The room was dark except for a vague, hazy light filtering in from the hallway, how would they be able to see to ensure everything was returned to its rightful place? “I don’t like this,” Fort Max continued to warble, “I don’t want to to get in trouble for this.”

“Will you relax,” Whirl drawled, the more he fondled the objects on Rung’s desk the more he made Fortress Maximus cringe, “This is for you remember? This is me, saying thank you for doing me that favour earlier.”

“If I’d known helping you was going to involve  _this_ , I wouldn’t have volunteered.”

As Rung encouraged his clients to share their counselling experiences and self-help techniques in out-of-hours client controlled social groups held at Swerve’s, an unofficial but solid brotherhood had formed between Rung’s clientele. Fortress Maximus claimed he wanted no part in it, but had somehow succumbed when the offer of energon goodies had been dangled in front of his nose as the proverbial carrot would be used to tempt a mule. Fortress Maximus had done Whirl a favour in order to earn the sweets he sorely missed. Rung warned Fort Max that his diet could affect his mood and interfere with his medication, but the yearnings of his sweet tooth weakened him to Whirl’s bribery, and what was the harm in a little self-indulgence every now and then?

Had he know his sweet fix would be acquired by such seedy exploits, Fortress Maximus might have thought twice before he agreed to Whirl’s terms.

On the other hand, as Whirl roughly yanked open Rung’s top desk drawer and dangled a packet of unopened Rust Sticks just within Maximus’s reach, it was a very cruel temptation.

“ _Pfft!”_ Whirl’s optic flared with sudden surprise, “Did you hear that?!”

Fortress Maximus’s head jerked toward the doorway, his fuel pump lurching horribly.

“Hear what?!”

“That:  _pfft_ , Chromedome will be so jealous!”

The unnecessary alarm compounding Fortress Maximus’s fraying nerves put a scowl on his face.

“Oh, come on, Maxy. Lighten up. Take your treats.”

“Don’t call me that!”  

“Take them!”

“No!”

Whirl tossed the packet of Rust Sticks at Fortress Maximus anyway. The sight of the giant mech falling about himself to catch the tiny packet of sweets threw Whirl into a fit of laughter and, as a reaction, the long blades jutting from Whirl’s shoulders launched upward and clashed with Rung’s carefully mounted collection of models.

The entire systems of shelves wobbled. At first, Whirl feared the whole unit was about to break loose of the wall and come crashing down on top of his head. He leapt out of range, but there was only one casualty.

A golden copy of the Ark - 3 dismounted its stand and took a tumble. Whirl dived forward, unfortunately his valiant catch was thwarted by the hole between his pincers. Like a ball through a hoop, the Ark - 3 slam-dunked, and hit the ground nose first, crumpled, and a port nacelle fractured off.

“Slag, oh slag!” Fortress Maximus bit the packet of Rust Sticks while he dived onto his knees and used both hands to delve under Rung’s desk to retrieve the missing fragment.

Whirl cradled the injured model in his claws, looking as a baleful as a mech with no face could in this circumstance as Fort Max crawled up to his side, clutching the tiny nacelle between his massive fingers. They both puzzled and fretted in disbelief and then they heard someone approaching.

Rung was surprised to find his office door open, he and Red Alert had walked in on the scene of a crime unawares and both immediately paused when they saw two mechs they recognised kneeling beside Rung’s desk, with expressions of pure horror whitening their faces.

“Max? Whirl? What are you - -  _oh my._ ” As Rung’s attention zeroed in on his broken model they could hear his heartache. When he raised his dainty hand to his thin lips, the swell of guilt in Maximus’s spark toppled the towers of stress in his mind. He was powerless to object to Whirl’s instinctual and treacherous outcry, ‘ _It was him!’_ because Max was too busy cramming as many of the Rust Sticks in his mouth as possible before he’d be undoubtedly marched back to the brig and served prison rations for the foreseeable future as penance for his role in this seedy and unforgivable crime.  

**Author's Note:**

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